Limited-Time Attachment - Chapter 21

In the Jiaxin filming location, the seat of the lead photographer, once occupied by a perpetually lazy-looking woman was now taken by a man with ash-gray hair and bleached blonde tips.

The set remained in its usual state of busy chaos. The man stood in the center, camera in hand, directing the workflow.

A photography assistant, acting out of habit, asked for the lead’s opinion: “Teacher Loren, what do you think of this shot?”

Loren, the professional “mess cleaner,” paused his movements, his face practically screaming, I want to run away.

The photographers at Jiaxin clearly didn’t realize that even at ‘Moon Tide,’ not everyone was Song Ming. Being able to pull a random frame and offer optimization advice on the fly wasn’t a skill just anyone possessed. Yet, the photographers here seemed to assume he could do it, pestering him with questions non-stop.

Loren was exhausted to the point of collapse.

“Yikes…” Ji Shan watched his second best photographer’s plight from a distance, looking away out of pity.

For the past few days, Ji Shan had been trying to contact Song Ming, but to no avail.

After days of fruitless searching, Ji Shan finally understood the weight of Song Ming’s half-joking warning: if she wanted to hide, he would never find her.

But Ji Shan racked his brain, he hadn’t offended her recently, had he? Why had this “ancestor” of his gone missing again?

Just then, Song Ming’s assistant walked by. Ji Shan acted quickly, grabbing the young girl and asking, “Still no sign of Song Ming?”

The assistant looked dazed for a moment before replying awkwardly, “Boss… Teacher Song never contacts us privately. We don’t even have her personal number.”

This answer was expected, but Ji Shan, clinging to a final shred of hope, rubbed his face in frustration.

He had her personal contact info, but the temperamental woman wouldn’t answer his calls! No picks-ups, no replies to messages, and she wasn’t even at home.

It was as if she had evaporated off the face of the earth.

As Ji Shan spiraled through the frustrations of the past few days, he thought of another thing that made him uneasy.

“What did President Zhou say?”

When the contract was signed, it was specified that Song Ming would be the Chief Photographer. Now, halfway through, Song Ming had vanished, and Loren had taken over. If that new President Zhou wanted to make a fuss about this, Ji Shan didn’t know how he’d defend himself, especially since President Zhou seemed to have a deep grudge against Song Ming.

How is she so good at causing trouble? Ji Shan wailed internally.

“Jiaxin actually doesn’t seem to care,” the assistant said naively.

“What?” Ji Shan looked at her skeptically.

“Really,” the assistant repeated. “I heard President Zhou’s secretary ask, ‘President Song hasn’t appeared for nearly a week. Should we handle this immediately?'”

Ji Shan’s nerves tightened. “And what did President Zhou say?”

“President Zhou said…” The assistant spread her hands. “Don’t worry about it.”

Across from the Jiaxin filming area was another business center. The office buildings were leased to several new media companies, and the plaza was bustling with bars, luxury boutiques, and dessert shops.

The streets were alive with people and a constant flow of traffic.

A royal blue Bentley swerved out of the traffic and slowly pulled into a roadside parking spot.

Song Ming stepped out of the car, pushed the door shut, and adjusted the sunglasses on the bridge of her nose before walking toward a coffee shop at the corner of the plaza.

“President Song, the latest round of the acquisition plan is on schedule,” a subordinate reported via her Bluetooth headset. “The new department is running well, but Boshen’s financial situation isn’t optimistic.”

“Mm,” Song Ming listened as she pushed open the coffee shop door. “Did the initial capital injection not meet the expected results?”

“Not at all. The capital gap still exists. Plus, with the previous property rights disputes, Boshen is currently riddled with bad debt.”

A bit troublesome, Song Ming thought. She might have to go there personally to straighten out that pile of junk assets.

Her investments a while back had been a bit too aggressive.

It was 10:30 AM office workers had just settled into their desks, so the shop wasn’t crowded. In the center of the store, a woman wearing a white blazer and dusty pink draped trousers turned around.

Across a distance of several meters, their eyes met… and Song Ming cursed silently.

Of all places to run into her.

Today, Zhou Jibai’s hair wasn’t tied up. Her long locks spilled over her shoulders, amber earrings half-hidden in the strands. Her face was small and exquisite, her gaze carrying a misty, lingering mature charm that hit Song Ming full force.

“I wondered who it was. So, it’s President Song.”

Zhou Jibai turned fully, her every move elegant and sharp, radiating the self-possession and aloofness of a wealthy heiress and a powerful executive. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. What’s the matter, been too busy lately?”

The subordinate in the headset was still reporting data, it was getting noisy.

Song Ming looked at Zhou Jibai through her sunglasses, then tapped her headset. “That’s enough. We’re done for today.”

Since leaving Songyun, Song Ming never used the Song family name. To the outside world, she was merely a photographer. However, anyone who had worked with her could tell her assets went far beyond what her father, Song Zhongtian, had handed her.

She just didn’t talk about it, and others couldn’t openly pry.

But Zhou Jibai had no such reservations. Seeing Song Ming end the call, her expression and tone remained polite and flawless, yet her words cut deep: “I was truly surprised to see you when I first returned to the country. Back at Songyun, President Song’s word was law. I never thought you’d abandon your position at the group to become a photographer.”

Song Ming didn’t care to explain. She lowered her gaze, took off her headset, and shot back nonchalantly, “Well, my temper, doesn’t President Zhou know it best? I do whatever I feel like doing.”

Zhou Jibai’s expression shifted slightly. “True. Consequences have never been within President Song’s range of consideration.”

Song Ming frowned, thinking of the photos that had gone viral online a few days ago, the ones she’d barely managed to suppress. A flash of genuine anger rose. Amidst the scattered, curious glances in the shop, she walked up to Zhou Jibai, leaned in slightly, and whispered, “You were the one who leaked those photos a few days ago, wasn’t it? You really know how to cause trouble for me.”

Zhou Jibai didn’t flinch. She stood her ground, her posture impeccable, looking fragile yet elegant.

After two years, Song Ming’s scent enveloped her once again. Zhou Jibai tilted her head slightly, her voice reaching Song Ming’s ear: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Song Ming: “Don’t play games.”

Zhou Jibai gave a soft laugh. “You need evidence to make such claims.”

There was no evidence. Zhou Jibai hadn’t given Song Ming a single chance to get any. The photos and videos were taken, and the original files and SD cards were immediately whisked away. The files were handed directly to the media outlets, they hadn’t passed through any traceable hands. It was a clean, untraceable job.

“How am I supposed to get evidence against someone as meticulous as President Zhou?” Song Ming stepped back and straightened up.

The two stood in a silent standoff. Zhou Jibai looked at Song Ming, her gaze accidentally sweeping across Song Ming’s cheek, where she suddenly paused.

Zhou Jibai stared at a specific spot on Song Ming’s face for a moment, then reached out.

Song Ming watched her, but didn’t dodge.

Warm, soft fingertips landed on the side of Song Ming’s face, and a cloying scent of perfume filled her nose.

“President Song, your face is marked.” Zhou Jibai’s somber expression vanished, replaced by a teasing smile as she lightly tapped Song Ming’s cheek.

Tch.

Song Ming stiffened, then frowned and pulled away from her fingers.

Zhou Jibai gave her a playful, mocking look, let out a light laugh, and brushed past Song Ming to walk out of the coffee shop.

In the lingering scent of perfume, Song Ming struggled to suppress the anger rushing to her head, pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek.